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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461569">Colorblind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonNight14/pseuds/CrimsonNight14'>CrimsonNight14</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game Grumps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arin Hanson Hurts Himself, Because Dan and Arin IRL are not okay with shipping, Brian Wecht is a Good Friend, Cutting (past), Dan Avidan Attempted Suicide, Dan Avidan is a Good Friend, Depressed Arin Hanson, Depressed Dan Avidan (Past), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Colorblind by Mokita, Just Friendship Though, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scars, Song Lyrics, Suicidal Thoughts (past), Suicide Attempt (past), mostly just mentioned, nothing graphic, platonic handholding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:47:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonNight14/pseuds/CrimsonNight14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During lunch time, Arin slips out of the high school cafeteria to be alone.</p><p>Dan, the most popular boy in Junior Year, needs an escape from the noise and crowds of the cafeteria. While out on a walk around the back of their school, he sees a boy wearing long sleeves, something shiny glinting in his hands.</p><p>Upon talking, both realize that they have traumatic pasts, pain, and scars that they can't escape from. But, maybe the strength of a budding friendship will make all that weight easier to bear.</p><p>*This story does not include any romantic relationships. Please don't ship real people, especially when it makes them uncomfortable like Arin and Dan*</p><p>**This story idea was inspired by the song Colorblind by Mokita. I DO NOT own this song or any of the lyrics used in this story, but it's truly beautiful, so I wanted to share it with you all. It's about explaining depression to someone who doesn't have it. This song uses metaphors about being colorblind and not being able to see and feel things the same way as everyone else. You don't need to know the song for things to make sense, but early in the story Arin does listen to the song and reflects on some of the lyrics.**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Colorblind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone!! What's this, my third completed GG Oneshot?? :D I've been working on this one for about two months now (it's actually my second ever GG fic I wrote), so I'm super happy to have finished it! I was a little nervous about posting this because it's darker than my other works, but I hope you all enjoy it still! :)</p><p>I'm going to give a few trigger warnings and describe them in-depth since this story has some heavy themes. I made sure that nothing in the story is described in graphic detail, but take care of yourselves!! &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p><p>TW: Past Suicide Attempt (Dan has scars from this and briefly talks about what happened that day, but nothing too graphic).<br/>TW: Scars (Arin has scars from cutting and Dan has some from his attempt. Nothing too graphic though as well).<br/>TW: Cutting (Arin thinks about cutting at the beginning and has in the past, but doesn't actually do it at any point in the story).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arin’s pov</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh, I walk past the crowds of laughing and chattering students in the cafeteria, all of them eating and enjoying their lunchtime with friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do my best not to glare as I pass by the many lunch tables, wishing that I could have even a fraction of what they have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wishing that I had friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wishing that I had someone to talk to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wishing that I could laugh and smile like them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wishing I could feel more than this soul-crushing loneliness and sadness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, I quickly exit the cafeteria, wanting to get as far away from everyone as possible, the sound of their joy making me feel more miserable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I walk across the empty hallways of the school, tightly clutching my olive-green lunch tray with shaking hands, I feel the first few, hot tears begin to slip down my cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This fucking sucks!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of eating lunch in the cafeteria, surrounded by friends like everyone else, I’m sneaking out to the back of the school where I can eat all alone on the bleaches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far away from everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far away from the rest of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just me, trapped in my own bubble of loneliness, too scared and nervous to try to make friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too scared of rejection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more minutes of walking, I reach the rusty silver bleaches behind the school, old and underused ever since the school got a budget upgrade and was able to pave a new, larger field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one ever comes here, which is perfect for what I’m about to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, I set my meager tray of chocolate milk, a slice of pizza that might as well be cardboard, and a banana, on the bleachers beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, while throwing my black and white checkered backpack onto the dirt below, I flop down on the uncomfortable bleachers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the tears flow quicker, causing my surroundings to become nothing more than blurs of blues, browns, and greens, I bite down on my tongue hard, fighting the urge to sob loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though no one will hear me out here, I can’t bring myself to stoop that low, not wanting to sit here, spending my entire lunch crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I have better things to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better ways to relieve this crushing pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After angrily wiping away my tears, I unzip my backpack, searching for my headphones with trembling hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile sadly as I grab my rose-gold, large over-ear headphones, thankful that I have these.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, my headphones and music are probably the greatest friends I’ve ever had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the conversations are terribly one-sided, but they’ve shown me that, even though I might feel entirely alone, there are other people out there, even successful and talented musicians, who feel the same way as me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They know how it feels to drown in a sea of suffocating emotions and thoughts that want nothing more than to tear you down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While once again brushing away my tears, I connect my headphones to my iPod before carefully turning each on, smiling sadly at the song that appears, ready for me to listen to again and again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colorblind by Mokita.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At a glance, most people probably wouldn’t know that it’s about depression. It’s about explaining what depression is like to people who don’t feel that way themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day, I hope to show my family this song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll proudly tell them that this is how I feel and that they should accept it, maybe even try to help me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until then, I’ll just blast that song through my headphones as I sit alone during lunch, wishing that I had the courage to make things different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, at least I have this song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a soft smile, I press play on my iPod, feeling my spirits begin to lift slightly as the opening guitar and piano begin to softly fill my ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Slow down, I know you want to understand.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So I'll explain it as best I can.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What this pain feels like.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Me too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It fucking sucks.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's hard, because even as I'm sitting here, I would rather disappear, than face the world outside.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being outside, facing the teachers and students at school every day, is so fucking scary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why can’t I just disappear?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm okay, or maybe not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, maybe not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sure as hell don’t feel okay right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So I breathe, am I gonna drown?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You'll be fine, I say it out loud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to myself, but the words sound forced and hollow, knowing deep down that I don’t believe it one single bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could I be fine?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How am I ever supposed to be fine?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should let someone know, maybe when I'm better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Will I ever get better?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So I breathe, will it ever end?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Please, just fucking end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to be sad anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You'll be fine, I say it again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to myself again but, much like the first time, my words are meaningless, lacking any form of conviction.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should let someone know that something doesn't feel right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something doesn’t feel right, but who would I tell that to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one ever believes me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t know how I feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t know the crushing and overwhelming sadness that fills me every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's like I'm colorblind. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everybody's world's in color, except for mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It sucks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It really fucking does.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't say I'm numb inside, because that just sounds so dark.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It does sound dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that's just how it is sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saying shit like that, people just think I'm going through a phase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tell me to knock it off and stop being so dramatic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it's real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just want to feel something other than loneliness, hopelessness, and gut-wrenching sadness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's hard, cuz even as I'm sitting here, fighting off the constant fear, no one sees that part.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one else ever sees the struggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one thinks to ask if I’m okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You think you're okay, but then you're not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm not okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does anyone care though?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course not.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here it comes again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Here it fucking comes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should let someone know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Should I?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening up about this in the past just got me laughed at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They said I was just over-dramatic and looking for attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In actuality, I feel like I’m dying inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would make this time any different?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something doesn't feel right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's like I'm colorblind, because everybody's world's in color, except for mine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But why me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why couldn't it be someone else who feels this pain?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why does it have to be me who suffers like this every damn day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why do I have to spend every day in agony?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Am I destined to just listen to sad songs like this for the rest of my life, waiting for someone to finally take me seriously?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to feel like this anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With newfound determination, I pause at the end of the song and pick up my backpack, gently setting it down on the bleachers beside me. Now that it’s easier to reach, I begin rifling through my backpack, looking for the razor blade I always keep hidden in my fuscha pencil pouch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate to do this at school, but I just can’t stave off this pain any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I need relief, and this is the only way I know how to get it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if it means hurting myself, I just need some way to lessen the weight of my loneliness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the constant tremble of my fingers, I grab the zip-lock with my razor, hating the relief that just having it in my possession brings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hating how badly I need this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I carefully set the razor beside me and roll up my left long-sleeve, wincing at the wide array of pale scars that litter my now-exposed skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t my first time doing this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it sure as hell won’t be my last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though no one comes to this part of the school, I quickly glance around me out of habit, not wanting a teacher who may be going to their car to see me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much to my surprise, I see a tall, lanky figure walking across the dry, barren field, seeming like they are approaching me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh fuck, someone is walking toward me!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” I mutter as I quickly grab the razor still in the zip-lock and slide it underneath my backpack, making sure it isn’t poking out at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hastily, I push down my shirt sleeve and take a bite of my cold, disgusting slice of pizza, trying to act casual before this person arrives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why the hell is someone coming toward me right now?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is one place where I could be alone at school, why do I have to lose that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the person gets closer, I realize that I recognize him. This boy, who is also a Junior, has a large mound of curly, dark brown hair atop his head that sticks out wildly in all directions. He wears a plain, baby blue t-shirt and black skinny jeans that tightly hug his lean form. His sharp jawline has the slightest hint of stubble, seeming like he has just started growing out the fuzz for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While continuing to confidently strut toward me, his piercing deep brown eyes watch me, a hint of curiosity and concern shining in his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leigh Daniel Avidan, the most popular boy in Junior Year, is currently walking toward me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit, why is one of the coolest people in school walking toward me?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like we’re in a crowded area and I’m just being paranoid that he’s coming to talk to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone else in the whole school is in or near the cafeteria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is here to talk to me and me alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the shaking in my hands intensifies, I quickly place my half-eaten pizza back on my tray, my nervousness over Leigh’s approach making it impossible for me to continue eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that I’m missing much, considering how shitty this school’s food is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another minute of panicking over my impending conversation with Leigh, I hear his soft, steady footsteps begin to sound on the dirt close by, his black Adidas occasionally kicking stray pebbles in random directions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit, he sounds so close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll be here any minute now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, I slowly raise my head to find his towering figure only five feet away, our close proximity causing my nervousness to ten-fold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t fucking do this!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How the hell am I supposed to talk to the coolest guy at school?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I can spend any more time carefully crafting what I should say, Leigh says in a kind, gravely voice, “Heya, Arin. How are ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He… knows my name?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How does he know who I am?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought no one knew who I am, let alone Leigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ummm, hey, Leigh," I mutter nervously as I look down at the reddish-brown dirt below me, clutching tightly to my beloved headphones for strength. “I-I’m doing okay. H-How about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t fucking do this!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole reason why I’m out here by myself is to be alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t just sit here and take part in small talk with the most popular boy I’ve ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, call me Dan,” Leigh says with what sounds like a large smile, his words surprising me so much that I glance up at him. “I’m doing okay too. The cafeteria got too loud for me, so I went for a walk, and here you are. Mind if I sit with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For several seconds, I just gape up at him in shock, no doubt my mouth hanging open, unable to believe the friendly way he’s talking to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s acting so casual right now, as if we are friends, not just two people who have had a few classes together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We don’t even know each other, so why the hell does he want to sit next to me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he came out here because the cafeteria got too loud?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends every damn day surrounded by clusters of people who love him, so how could the cafeteria suddenly be too loud for him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something here just doesn’t add up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is he here with me right now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I feel wary of his reason for visiting me, I find my curiosity taking control, my desire to learn more about him causing me to quietly say, “Um, yeah, sure. You can sit with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, thanks,” Dan says with a large, genuine smile as he slides on the bleacher beside me, his excitement over sitting with me shocks me further, not understanding why someone as cool as him would even want to be anywhere near me. “This is a pretty cool spot. It's really far away from everyone else, so it seems nice and quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, with a smirk, Dan continues, “If I’m cramping your style, you can just tell me to fuck off. I won’t be mad if you’d rather be alone out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I’ve heard from others that Dan has a tendency to crack jokes, I can’t help but choke on the water I was drinking, surprised by his bluntness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, man,” Dan says with a sheepish chuckle as I continue coughing my fucking lungs out. “I guess I can come off a little strong sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After several more seconds of coughing violently, I take in a large, shaky breath, willing myself to stop choking before I embarrass myself even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” I mutter, my voice sounding a little hoarse from my coughing fit. “You just surprised me, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before continuing, I can’t help but bite my bottom lip as I think about his question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do I want him to leave?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean sure, I’m fucking terrified of talking to anyone, let alone the most popular guy at school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time though, this is the first time this whole school year that someone, besides my teachers, has voluntarily talked to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone is talking to me right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not because they were forced into group work with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone is talking to me because they want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan came all the way out here to talk to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How am I supposed to send him away knowing that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially since I’m so fucking lonely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making up my mind, I meet his eyes and say with as much confidence as I can muster, “I’d like it if you stayed here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Dan’s eyes soften at my admission, a kind smile on his face as he quietly says, “Sure, Ar, I’ll stay with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon hearing the gentle seriousness of his words, along with his nickname for me, I feel my cheeks start to heat up, so unused to someone doing something I want them to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” I whisper with a small, barely-there smile, dully realizing that this is the first time I’ve smiled in months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I can spend much time dwelling on the tragedy that my life has been as of late, Dan leans back against the bleaches and quietly says, “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing out here? I didn’t think anyone ever came out to this part of the school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though his words seem innocent enough, I feel my hands begin to shake again, my arms seeming to tingle at the wrists, just thinking of what I was about to do causing a visceral reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, hey, Dan, the person I just met. I came out here because I was about to slice open my wrists and watch myself bleed for a while before going back to class. You interrupted though, so I’ll have to wait till later.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, somehow I think telling Dan the truth wouldn’t go over well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d scare him off so fucking fast if he knew the way I’m feeling right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I must have been lost in my thoughts for too long, Dan’s quiet and hesitant voice pulls me from my thoughts as he says, “You don’t have to tell me why you were out here. I know we don’t really know each other. If you wanna though, we could talk for the rest of lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, I am surprised by Dan’s words, not expecting him to be so understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, considering that he’s so popular, I expected him to be a self-centered douche. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far though, he seems… genuinely nice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That can’t be though...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though part of me thinks that this might be a trap, that his dick friends might have just dared him to talk to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I let my guard down the slightest bit, another small smile slipping onto my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Dan,” I whisper with my barely-there smile still in place, feeling my heart flutter at the blinding smile he shoots me in return. “I can’t say why I’m out here, but I’m glad you stopped by. I’d like to talk to you for a little while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s totally cool, no pressure,” Dan says immediately in an understanding tone, his dazzling smile still in place. “So, I guess we should start getting to know each other? Do you have any hobbies or shit you like to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a giggle at his awkward question, I softly say, “Yeah, I like to draw, animate, and listen to music. How about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, that’s fucking dope!” Dan adamantly says as he sits up straighter, the genuine interest in his eyes causes me to blush madly, not used to people thinking that what I do is anything special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” I mutter embarrassedly, the heat in my cheeks stubbornly refusing to dissipate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sweet, melodic chuckle, Dan excitedly says, “I really like music too! Mostly older shit, like 80s hits and stuff. I like some newer songs too though. Oh yeah, and I like to sing too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it’s my turn to be interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan sings?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m surprised that I haven’t heard any of the students at school gossip about his angelic voice, or whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” I can’t help but ask in a surprised tone, a hint of a smile gracing my lips at the thought of what his singing might sound like. “What kinds of things do you like to sing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Dan’s face flushes a bright red, seeming embarrassed to talk about his singing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when I am about to call it off, tell him that he doesn’t have to share what he sings, Dan nervously runs a hand through his curls as he mutters, “Well, I like to sing to lots of songs, but my favorite thing is writing songs. My friend Brian and I are actually starting a comedy band together. He’s a ninja who tries stabbing everyone and I’m a sex-crazed singer in a cape who sings about dicks and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A... comedy band?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That actually sounds… fucking awesome!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so cool!” I adamantly say, secretly hoping that one day I’ll be able to hear his music. “Sounds like a ton of fun! You guys even have characters you play as, which is super dope!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you really think it’s cool?” Dan asks with a soft, hesitant smile, seeming like he can’t believe that someone finds his idea cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, I eagerly nod my head, genuinely thinking that his idea is one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only does he write music, but he writes comedy songs?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, man, that actually means a lot to me,” Dan says with a blinding smile and a bubbly chuckle, seeming genuinely elated over my reaction. “Most people just tell me to grow up. They say that I’m too old to be singing about dicks and erections in music. As if music is supposed to be all serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I can’t help but feel shocked that people would doubt Dan, I ask with a smirk, “You know what I say to that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Dan raises his eyebrow in a silent question, I continue in a serious tone, “Fuck them. If you wanna sing about dicks, go for it. Hell, if they don’t wanna listen, I will. Your idea really does sound cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And damn, the smile Dan gives me after hearing my words makes me feel like I’m worth millions. His eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles wider than I’ve ever seen someone smile, fondness clearly seen in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I smile widely as well, Dan sincerely says with a chuckle, “Thanks, Ar. I… That means so much to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime,” I whisper with my smile still in place, feeling so fucking thankful that he came to talk to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, a part of me is still nervous, but I feel fucking wonderful right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, the incessant chatter of my mind has faded away, leaving just me and Dan here, sitting together and talking about his awesome band.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of all though, I’m smiling again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been so long, I thought that maybe I never would be able to smile again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, my jaw is starting to hurt from smiling so much, a warm, tingling feeling spreads through my chest, making me feel giddy and… happy for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For several minutes, we fall into silence but, unlike I thought it might be, it’s not awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, we stare out at the football field and look at the fluffy, white clouds dotting the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It truly is a beautiful day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeming to think along the same lines as me, Dan leans back against the bleachers, moving his arms so that they are bent behind his head, his shirt riding up a bit, exposing the pale skin of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I see how relaxed he is in the warm sunlight, I can’t help but start to panic, something on his arms catching my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take in a stuttering gasp of air as I continue staring at his arms, absolutely shocked by what I'm seeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his right arm is a long, jagged scar across his wrist, somewhat similar to the lines on my own wrists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike mine though, his weren't to cause himself pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His scar is a long, messy line traveling from the inside of his right wrist all the way up to his inner elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-Dan?” I ask hesitantly, my voice breaking as the weight of his scar bears down on me, the realization of it stealing my breath away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to kill himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no other explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know the kind of cuts that are made to cause pain, and that certainly isn’t one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the kind of cut when someone wants to quickly bleed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cut someone makes when they want to end it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fucking hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dan asks in a concerned tone as he sits up fully, grabbing my hands with both his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t answer his question, a low, pathetic whine escaping as I see that his arms have twin scars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How is he even alive?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the first few tears slip from my eyes, I just continue staring at his arms, realizing that that could have easily been me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There have been so many times I’ve thought about making those cuts, but I’ve never been able to go through with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally seeming to realize what I’m looking at, Dan curses under his breath before quickly grabbing a black hoodie from his backpack and throwing it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that I can’t see his arms, I feel some of my shakiness and nausea start to subside, but I still know that they’re there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ll always be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like my own scars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the rest of our lives, we’ll both have these ugly scars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Ar, please, listen to me,” Dan says urgently, his words cutting through the fog of panic clouding my mind, causing me to realize that my chest is painfully tight. “You gotta breathe, okay? Breathe with me. In…… Out…… In… Out… In. Out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few moments, but Dan patiently coaches me back to breathing normally, some of the trembling subsiding now that I can breathe easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good now?” Dan quietly asks as he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, his voice laced with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” I mutter weakly, the image of his scarred wrists seeming forever seared into my mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, while taking in a deep, shaky breath, I state just above a whisper, “You tried to kill yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did a couple of years ago,” Dan quietly says even though we both know that I wasn’t asking a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to kill himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only that, but he followed through with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at those nasty scars, I have no idea how he’s even alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" I ask as wet, hot tears rush to my eyes, shocked that someone who seems so perfect could even do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While barking out a bitter laugh, so unlike the genuine cheerfulness I heard earlier, Dan mutters under his breath, "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? The simplest answer is that I didn't want to be alive anymore. Sometimes I still feel that way. Shit sucks sometimes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, another whine escapes my throat against my will, hating that Dan feels that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, I barely know the guy but, as someone who thinks about suicide all the damn time, I don’t want anyone else to feel that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want anyone to feel as hopeless and alone as I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon hearing my whine, Dan gently pulls me into a hug and sadly says, “Shit, I’m sorry, Arin. I’m sure I’m probably freaking you out right now with all my problems. We can talk about something else if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, with startling clarity, words from the song I listened to before Dan arrived fly to the forefront of my mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should let someone know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For so long, I’ve been scared of opening up to someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Torn between wanting to, but being afraid of people thinking I’m just being overdramatic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan… wouldn’t do that though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, he might not feel the same way as I do, and he might be in a better place than I am right now, but we have at least one thing in common: our scars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While shifting slightly in his arms to meet his gaze, I say as confidently as I can, “No, it’s important to talk about this. I know; I’ve been burying my feelings for too damn long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few seconds, confusion flashes across his face, his eyebrows furrowing as he carefully watches my face, seeming confused about where I’m going with this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though it’s so fucking hard, I give him a shaky smile and move my left arm, using my other hand to roll up my sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Arin,” Dan whispers sadly but, thankfully, his tone is free of any judgment as he stares at my scars, some white and pale, others angry and red, still healing from when I first created them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit sucks sometimes,” I quietly say as the silent tears continue tracing down my cheeks, echoing his earlier words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sad chuckle, Dan says just as quietly, “Yeah, shit sucks sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Dan releases my hand and instead gently begins tracing my scars, keeping his other arm firmly around my back, still holding me close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His touch is light and gentle, but, every time his nimble fingers meet my skin, it feels like all the weight of the world comes crashing down on me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I did this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hurt myself like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Dan’s seeing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s seeing each and every scar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like thousands of hurdles, blocking my path to a normal life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, no matter how hard I try to overcome them, they stay in the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forever marring my skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this okay?” Dan carefully asks in a neutral tone as he starts tracing over a third scar, this one the brightest red of all of them, only appearing on my skin four days ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While nervously biting my bottom lip, I nod my head, hating the constant attention on my ugly scars, yet not wanting him to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s the first person to ever see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, other than seeming sad, he hasn’t judged me at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more moments of him gently tracing the scars of my left wrist, I realize that I feel surprisingly calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When someone finally saw my scars, I thought that I would be freaking out, begging them not to judge me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, I’m okay with this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell, I want this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I chose to show him this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I chose to show him this part of myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The part of me that’s not okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” I whisper sincerely as I lean into his chest, causing him to tighten the arm around my back, pulling me closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, Ar,” Dan says with a soft smile as he stops tracing my scars, instead using his free hand to hold me as well, beginning to rub comforting circles into my lower back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we sit here in each other’s embrace, a gentle breeze touches my left wrist, something I haven’t felt in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been so long since I didn’t need to hide my scars with long sleeves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, even though the feeling of the breeze on my exposed skin is scary, I can’t bring myself to pull my sleeve back down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more moments of sitting in companionable silence, Dan suddenly says in a low, kind tone, “Thanks for sharing this with me, Ar. I’m sure it was really hard, so I appreciate it. It took a long time for me to be okay with wearing short sleeves again. I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I’m here for you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As tears rush to my eyes once again, I hug him tightly and gratefully say, “Thank you. That means so fucking much to me. I haven’t had a friend in such a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sad sigh, Dan holds me tighter as well, and confidently says, “Well, you’ve got me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, in a much quieter and sad tone, Dan continues, “I know what it’s like to feel hopeless and alone and I don’t want that to be you. I don’t want you to get to the point where I was. I got so fucking lucky. I don’t want you to be unlucky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though part of me knows I shouldn’t pry, I can’t help but quietly ask, “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For several moments, Dan is quiet, the only sound being the steady pounding of his heartbeat against my ear and the nearby sparrows chirping happily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when I’m about to say that he doesn’t have to tell me anything, he says in a pained, quiet tone, “It was near the end of eighth grade, and I had a really shitty day. I was bullied a lot and that day they kept telling me to kill myself. So, that’s exactly what I did. I slit both my wrists with my razor, and I started to bleed out on the bathroom floor. I don’t remember too much, but my friend Brian came over because we were supposed to hang out. He found me in the bathroom and called the ambulance. He saved my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Poor Dan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How can people be so fucking cruel?!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s probably the nicest person I’ve ever met, and those assholes at his school made him want to kill himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as quietly as he spoke, I pull back from our embrace slightly and say while looking him in the eyes, “I’m glad he saved you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a small, weak smile, Dan confidently says, “Me too. I promised him that I would never try something like that again, and, four years later, I’ve kept that promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to meet him sometime. Thank him for giving me the chance to meet you,” I say with a soft smile, feeling infinitely grateful to Brian, even if I’ve never even met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely,” Dan says with a surprisingly large smile, his eyes once again sparkling with joy. “Actually, he’s coming over to my house later today to write some music with me. You wanna come too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few seconds, I just stare at him in absolute shock, unable to believe that he’s inviting me to see his band write songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While smiling, I excitedly say, “I’d love to come!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, feeling a little uncertain, I hesitantly ask, “Are you sure you want me to be there though? I’m not gonna mess up your songwriting or anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you’ll be fine. You seemed excited about the band, so I think it’ll be cool to have you there,” Dan says with a large, dazzling smile, the sight of his gorgeous smile causes me to smile back widely as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then I’ll see you later? Can I get your phone number?” I ask with my smile still in place, excited not only by the idea of going to Dan’s house, but also getting his phone number, giving me the chance to contact him if ever I need him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course,” Dan happily says as he pulls out his phone, causing me to do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments of trading numbers and snapping contact photos, we both stand up and lug our heavy backpacks onto our shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pick up my lunch tray and throw it in the nearby trash can, rolling my eyes when Dan teasingly says, “Look at you, being a good samaritan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I try not to eat like an absolute animal and leave trash everywhere for our poor janitor to clean up,” I say with a teasing smile of my own as we begin walking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan chuckles loudly at my response, the sound of his laughter causing me to smile widely, knowing I could certainly get used to such a beautiful sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As we walk away together, I glance behind me, feeling like I forgot something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From several feet away, I see something shiny and metallic glinting off the sunlight as it rests on the bleaches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, I recognize the familiar shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My razor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, I almost forgot!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You coming, Ar?” Dan asks in a confused tone as he turns around slightly, causing me to realize that I stopped walking upon realizing what I forgot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few seconds, I bite my bottom lip, wanting to grab the razor, my trusty friend throughout all these years, but not wanting Dan to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m coming,” I softly say as I continue walking with Dan, shooting my razor one last, fleeting glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, that razor has kept me company during so many lonely nights, but I have someone new to keep me company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, unlike my razor, it seems like Dan doesn’t want to hurt me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gently touched my scars instead of causing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I continue walking away, putting more distance between myself and the instrument of destruction, I feel a large weight slowly lift off my shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, this is going to be one hell of a journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe I’ll never truly be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right now, with Dan by my side and my razor out of sight, I feel good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, I have hope again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hope for the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hope for a future filled with friendship and love, rather than pain and blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s all because of Dan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how or why we met today, but I’m so fucking glad it happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think he’s going to change my life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as we talk and giggle with each other the whole way back to the cafeteria, I realize that he already has. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should let someone know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As those song lyrics float through my mind again, I smile softly to myself, thankful that I let him know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, I realize that my left sleeve is still rolled up, exposing my scars as we draw nearer to all the classrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeming to pick up on my budding nervousness, Dan gives me a small smile and grabs my right hand, his firm, yet kind touch giving me strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, even though a part of me is scared to show the world my scars, scared to show the world what I’ve done to myself, I can’t convince myself to release his hand to roll down my left sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so tired of hiding all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling my nervousness fade away now, I softly squeeze his hand in thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, we walk to the cafeteria and, for the first time, I enter the room with not only a large smile, but a friend to keep me company.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey again, everyone! :D</p><p>So, how was it?? Hope it wasn't too sad... &lt;3 It took me forever to finish this, and even longer to get the nerve up to post it. But, I'm very happy with how it turned out, and I hope you all liked it! :)</p><p>As always, thank you all so much for your continuous support!! When I first started writing Game Grumps stories early this September, I had no idea how fast and hard I would fall into this fandom. This story is the second one I started writing, ("Friends?" was the first), so finally publishing it is pretty surreal. When I started working on this one, I never would have guessed that I'd already have published 5 other GG works before this one! I just appreciate you all so much, especially my regular readers and commenters! You all mean a lot to me!! :D</p><p>Looking forward to seeing you all in future GG stories of mine!! :) Love y'all &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p><p>- Crimson</p></blockquote></div></div>
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